


What else? (Part II: Lust)

by my_thestral



Series: What else? [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 19:57:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3581967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been one hell of a week for Draco Malfoy and it would be so, so nice to let go of all the tension... and it would have worked, too, if it wasn't for a certain defying redhead and all that... well, lust... what else?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What else? (Part II: Lust)

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternative version to the fic, posted under a title "Just lust" that was submitted as part of the [Ron/Draco fest 2015](http://ron-draco-fest.livejournal.com/) That fic is practically one and the same, it has only been tweaked in places so it could stand on its own and not as a sequel, while this version is a part of the "What else?" series - it will be a three-part-one once, I promise! - and as such very much a sequel. Many thanks to my beta, HTML guru and a one-person-support-team [Praevarus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Praevarus) \- she's my rock when it comes to mental support before fests, when I turn into a mushy wreck! ;)
> 
> Disclaimer: The wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to the wonderful mind of JK Rowling, I play for fun, not profit...

Draco Malfoy sank deeply into the steaming water of the luxurious, wonderfully scented bath of the Prefects' Bathroom and exhaled in pleasure. _This_ … this was what he had been craving the whole bloody endless week filled with stress and awkwardness like none other. He _loved_ the Prefects' bathroom; none of the privileges granted to Hogwarts' Prefects ever came close to the importance of this intimate island of peace and comfort amidst the overcrowded, windy old school.

Here he could find much needed privacy, here he could at least hope to relax, close his eyes and let go of the haunting memories of that terrible calamity from a week ago. Perhaps. It would certainly help if he could stop thinking about it! It wasn't like anyone else knew – well, it certainly wasn’t public knowledge or he would surely have noticed – and if bloody Weasel never spoke...

Oh, blast... Now he’d done it. He'd let the one stray thought he had wander towards _him_ and now it was all ruined! The very hint of his name - and the illusion of peace was gone and his mind flooded with the images of silken strands of fiery hair and stormy blue eyes watching him from up close, full of anger, hatred and something else... something entirely different, something he had been trying so hard to forget about...

He couldn’t, he shouldn’t have been thinking of it, not anymore, if ever – but his stupid, hormone-dazzled thoughts were scandalously out of control when the sorely despised blood-traitor was concerned. He should be enjoying the precious moments of serenity, clearing his mind and finding his crumbling composure, but all he could see behind the closed eye-lids was a close-up of that fresh, red, insanely soft mouth moments before it sunk onto his neck... Oh, fuck this treacherous piece of shit he had for a body! That’s no reaction to be having for a proper Malfoy, what kind of an intolerable disobedience was that!? Oh, for Merlin’s sake... but it couldn’t be helped. Perhaps getting naked in a soapy warm water, smooth against his skin, wasn’t such a splendid idea for a hormone-pumped teenager after all.

And just because this was his life and the gods were mean bastards who were always going to be against him, there was suddenly a loud bang of an opening door that simply flew into the wall and almost made him jump out of his skin. Not only did it startle his eyes open, it instantly made him spring up to hiss at the impostor with an obvious death-wish who _dared_ violate his precious privacy and rest so crudely.

But the words died on his lips when there was a flash of red hair and blue eyes, and that tall, muscled body that seemed to have stepped right out of his dreams into his steamy refuge - and there was Ron Weasley, flesh and bone, already pulling his robes over his head and mumbling something about a “ _bloody jammed door, someone alert the authorities, this whole shack of a school is falling apart_ ”.

Sweet Merlin on a bicycle, any time now those robes would land at his feet and that obnoxiously... manly body Draco couldn’t chase out of his mind no matter how many emergency wanks he’s been degraded to, would be revealed and he would be doomed and permanently fucked in the head, thank you very much. He felt acute panic rise inside of him along with an indiscernible muddle of other feelings and he knew had to stop the looming disaster at all costs!

“Just what _the actual fuck_ do you think you’re doing, Weasel?!”

The outer robes already at his feet, Ron almost gave himself a whiplash with a quick turn of his head towards the hissing voice and his eyes got impossibly big and blue at the sight of a livid-looking Slytherin fuming at him from behind a cloud of foam, hastily piled in front of him in a futile attempt to cover up all the embarrassing bits. It was clear that the redhead had not expected to see him – or anyone else for that matter – but it didn’t take him long to gather his wits about and the blue eyes narrowed into mere slits.

“What am I doing!? You’re in _my bath_ , in _my time slot_ , reserved for _me_ , you skinny twat! It says so on the schedule and I wasn’t aware that the Malfoys couldn’t bloody read! Hanging around Crabbe and Goyle all the time must be rubbing off on you, snake!”

Well, yeah... there was that... Draco had been in such dire need of some peace of mind and privacy that he hadn't _actually_ bothered to check the bloody pointless schedule, had he... but just because the fire-headed git _might_ be right, that fairly irrelevant fact didn’t give him the right to continue undressing as if Draco was not even there!

“You stop this!” the blond told him in a strangely choked voice, trying to insert as much of the proverbial Malfoyian iciness in it as humanly possible, but as more of the... oh, fuck it... gorgeous body got revealed, he was very possibly failing miserably. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, you ginger idiot!? I‘m already in, it's _mine_ now, so get lost, beggar boy!”

But Ron merely threw him a look full of angry spite, and as the long fingers began working on the rumpled shirt, undoing one tiny button after another, he said quietly but with cold determination in his voice: “My time-slot, my bath, for two more hours. I've been waiting for this the whole bloody week, so I suggest you slither out, you slimy bastard, cause I'm coming in, like it or not!”

Cufflinks undone, the shirt slipped to his feet, muscles rippling under the faded Chudley Cannons T-shirt as he went on to remove his socks and the worn-out fabric was suddenly the only thing between Draco and the utter loss of sanity.

“You can't do that...” the blond choked, his voice nothing short of panicky, because if bloody Weasel made _one_ step, just one more towards what he was so desperately trying to conceal with all that foam, he might as well kiss his self-control goodbye. He could smell him already; that unique blend of warm skin, a spice of broom polish and that incredibly luxurious scent of silken rich hair, so addictive, so intimate, so... Ron, he just _couldn't_ get it out of his nostrils ever since he'd buried his face right into it a week ago... a smell he still wanked to furiously, a most undoing smell in the world for him.

“You can't...” he blurted out in a last attempt to save his dignity and what was left of his fast-spilling marbles. “I forbid it... you smell...”

He bit his lip not to tell him how insanely delicious he smelled, that he was just bloody sex-on-two feet, wasn't he, that he couldn't help himself around that intoxicating scent and that he would be reduced to begging – again – if the redhead only came too close...

But as if in miracle Ron stopped as though someone had nailed him to the ground.

“I smell...” he repeated in a warm, rumbling voice filled with incredulity as if the words made no sense and Draco figured out a second too late that he took it completely the wrong way... the right way, of course, the right way, this is what he had meant, right, the bloody Weasel smelled terrifically...!

“You smell...” he repeated in a deadpan voice as if that was the only defence he had left from total annihilation of his pride and it was either going to work and save him – or not, and Draco Malfoy as the world knew him was doomed.

“... terrible,” he added for good measure, but the flush that crept up the redhead's face told him that this might, very possibly, have been the worst idea he had since... well, ever. His wand tucked somewhere inside of his robes, impossibly out of reach, he was staring up into the sapphire-blue eyes of Ron Weasley and the anger rolling off him in waves was so real, it was almost corporeal.

“Oh, so I _smell_...” the redhead said in a quiet voice, filled with lethal danger that somehow managed to be incredibly sexy and gave Draco the goose-bumps in spite of the hot water covering him up to his neck. Or maybe it was the right predatory look in those brilliant blue eyes staring down at him, filled with aggression, white hot anger and... something else. Something quiet, sinister and melting hot, crawling towards him across a blue-grey bridge made of their eyes and it made Draco's nipples go hard in unfulfilled anticipation... right before Weasley turned away and took three determined steps with those endless legs to the opposite wall of the bathroom where a couple of showerheads stood screwed onto the wall.

He threw one last glance towards the blond, all jittery nerves and trembling in the feeling of looming disaster more present than ever – and stretched his long arm to turn on the water.

“Of course... your _majesty_ can't have that...” he said quietly and the acid sarcasm just oozed out of the heavy words. “His Lordship can't have the company of smelly Weasley desecrating the holy water around him... so allow me to get clean for you, my king... before I join you.”

And Draco's mouth almost consumed a mouthful of bubbles when the crazy Weasel stepped under the spray of water, still wearing the worn-out T-shirt and soft-denim pants he'd never gotten around to removing and turned around to face him. The water soaked him instantly, the little rivulets running down the soft locks of hair, turning their shade from fiery red to a richer, more auburn colour of dried blood, and his large palms moved to slick it back, revealing the pretty face completely unobscured for the first time. Droplets of water slid past the brilliant blue eyes and down the milky, freckled cheeks, pooling at the soft, fresh mouth straight out of Draco’s most decadent dreams, painting them with a glossy liquid polish.

And when the gentle tongue flickered out to pick a few of the watery pearls from the bottom lip, again and again, he might as well be licking the last thin layer of the blond’s self-restraint away, leaving nothing but raw hungry need in its wake. Entranced, Draco watched its slow travel across the tender landscape of that red, tempting flesh, his body flushed by a sense-memory of its velvet-like texture, so hot and slick against his own, painting the inside of his mouth with slow, silken strokes, drawing all those undignified wild sounds out of him - and before he knew it, a whispered, pleading “ _Shit... don't..._ ” escaped him, and he knew he just lost the game spectacularly.

And he didn’t even care. At that moment he’d kill for that generous, greedy mouth on top of his, dominating, suffocating, stealing his every breath and breathing desire with hot moist puffs of air against his own eager mouth, taking it all, eating and feeding on those small, broken whispers of filth and admiration that could melt and fuel him like nothing else could. He watched the large hands disappear under the wet, clingy T-shirt, glued to the every contour of that impossibly masculine torso; he saw the long fingers slowly travel up the enticing lines of Quidditch-made muscles and finally brush against the taut erect nubs, and he might have let out an embarrassing mewl when Ron finally removed the offensive fabric and had it land at his feet with a squelching sound.

Draco forgot how bloody gorgeous he was. He wasn’t dreaming it right; he didn't imagine it nearly perfect enough... His blurred brain had taken out all the little details it couldn’t register in the urgency and heat of those moments that had burned through his sanity a week ago, after that terrible Quidditch debacle for Slytherin that made him pounce on Weasley as soon as he foolishly came close enough to breathe in the redhead's intoxicating warmth - when he really should have been punishing him. He had forgotten how elegant was the curve of the long, strong neck; the little streams of water sliding down its length and past that tender point of pulse, pooling at the clavicles and just begging to be licked.

He suddenly remembered holding onto those wide squared shoulders, the smooth muscles moving under his touch like a symphony as the large hands slid around his waist and pulled him underneath, that beautiful naked torso suddenly tight against his flushed skin, and he whimpered at the mere memory of the insane and ungodly dance of need and desire he had been pulled into when the hot body, slick with perspiration, slid against him time and time again. A week ago. An eternity. Too fucking long.

He watched him enchanted when the long fingers reached for a soap and began their travel across the milky white skin, sprayed with most adorable freckles, down the endless muscled arms and up again, only to slide across that perfect chest... _oh, mother of -_... He saw dark nipples instantly standing to attention under the adept soapy fingers and he wanted to do that, he wanted to be the one to toy with them, make him throw his head backwards and moan most heavenly.

“Ron...”

Oh, dammit... it was always Ron, not Weasley, when he played with him behind the closed eye-lids and _this_... this unreal image of a beautiful boy he was hard-wired to despise and still couldn't help to obsess about, came too close to everything his forbidden, filthy imagination was fuelled with, when it was just him and his hand. His voice was filled with pleading, way too much pleading, but then the blue eyes caught up with his and he could no longer look away. Hypnotized, like a prey in front of a snake, he watched those teasing fingers from hell open the button of the jeans and then the large hand slipped inside, on top of that wonderful hard bulge the soaked fabric did nothing to obscure, and it only took two slow, enticing strokes to break him.

“Get in here...”

There was urgency in his voice as he'd been rock hard ever since the first droplets touched Ron's skin and he needed him in, right now, this second, because he couldn't do without him, not a moment longer, when he looked like this, like sin personified, like every forbidden desire Draco has ever had.

But Ron wouldn't. The blue eyes wouldn't leave his face as his hand moved in slow, sensual strokes and he was just a bit out of breath when he said quietly in a hard challenging voice:

“Can't... I'm busy.... getting ready for your majesty... it's all for you, you see.... for your own good... Only when I'm good enough...”

There it was, that face that haunted Draco day and night, his “ _god, this is so good, I can't help myself_ ” face, the half lidded blue eyes, the tension around the lovely mouth, the lower lip caught between his teeth to stop him from moaning and Draco's stupid, mindless mouth must have decided to conspire with his raging cock and did what he wouldn't – it blurted out the unspeakable:

“Please... get in here... Weasley... Ron... please....”

“If you think I'm good enough...”

“God, don't... you're good... enough... Merlin... please...”

The last words had already drowned in his mouth when the redhead sunk into water with shocking speed and suddenly the blond found himself pressed against the edge of the bathtub and all that hot naked skin was upon him. One after another of those treacherous needy yelps dissolved inside of that soft, unforgiving mouth; it was as if a week of mounting tension and piles of desperate lies melted under the needy, filthy touch and he was finally allowed to give in, give in to his guilty desire and all that cursed, helpless yearning.

“You bastard... you wouldn't look at me... the whole bloody week... and I thought... oh, gods, please don't stop... I thought we'd never do this again... and it was driving me up the fucking wall... I need this... need... been dreaming of this... every bloody night... oh, god, you need to let me have it... don't let go...”

“You need to shut up, Malfoy... ” the redhead hissed through his clenched teeth, and it was a strange consolation to know that his anger was in no way diminished, that it seemed as if his loathing fuelled the whole insane encounter. “Shut up... As if I could stop... as if I could... you hexed me, you decadent, mean tosser... and now you're all I think about.”

Ron's mouth pressed there, right into that little spot of heaven and raw life drumming wildly on the blond's slender neck and his teeth slowly, lusciously sunk into the tender skin around his lover's pulse, just under the edge on pain. Just a small gasp of pleasure and pain later the redhead's talented, moist tongue proceeded to soothe the damaged skin with the broad, tender sweeps, travelling up his neck all the way to the edge of the silken, blond hair - and Draco lost himself with a sensational moan of surrender.

“More...” he gasped as the greedy, unrelenting lips discovered the sensitive flesh under his ear and the hot puffs of Ron's sweet breath made his every hair stand on end. “Please... more... need...”

“You don't get to tell me what you need, snake...” Ron hissed angrily and the way he sank his fingers into the blond hair and sought out his mouth again, was nothing short of brutal and exactly what Draco craved somewhere deep down in his depraved soul, ready to be mastered.

“I'll tell you what you need...” he told him between two hard kisses, so intense, that they left Draco completely breathless and with a blurred brain, stammering for more. “I'll show you... what you need. I've been thinking about little else... this whole... bloody... miserable week. We play by my rules, prince... and I want... _this_.”

Suddenly Draco's head was the only thing still touching solid surface and his arms automatically flew to grip the edge of the bath for support. He found himself staring at the ceiling when his whole body was lifted up and there was not enough foam in England to hide the embarrassing consequences of Ron Weasley's hot skin on his. With his head still leaning onto the edge of the bathtub, the rest of his body was floating amidst the clouds of bubbles covering the surface, supported by one large hand right under his arse-cheek, while the other hand went to spread his legs rather brutishly, with no effort, just the way he loved it. His tense balls suddenly brushed against the massive warm torso and he whimpered in exotic sensation and strained expectation.

He felt those adept fingers move under his buttocks, on both sides now, securing and massaging him gently, just enticingly enough to build impossible anticipation, while he stared down into those blue, blue eyes that watched, dazzled and _saw_ him, like no one's ever seen Draco before, to the very depth of his lonely, hungry soul and Ron didn't pity him and he didn't judge. Instead, he gave him this.

Without another word he leaned down on him, the side of his cheek brushing against his erect, swollen cock, making him gasp, and then the redhead closed his eyes as that beautiful mouth began its sensual travel up his body. He took it slow as if he was enjoying every millimetre of the exposed skin, flushed pink, barely touching him with his cheek, rubbing against him with his pretty face, sowing an odd warm kiss here and a wanton playful lick there, all the while breathing him in, inhaling his very scent and warmth, only stopping to nibble gently on his hard pebble-like nubs, a provoking action that drew a helpless plea out of his blond prey:

»Please... Ron... please...«

He didn't even know what he was begging for, because for all his smugness and know-it-all attitude, he's never been with anyone other than Ron... just Ron and this was all bloody scary and wonderful and... oh, god, he didn't want it to ever stop and to dissolve into another empty dream or hollow daylight fantasy that would leave him yearning for... _something_ , he didn't even have a name for it, but Ron Weasley gave it to him. And _he_ was no fantasy. He was way better than that. Finally that stunning face was on top of his, just an inch above it; that soft mouth he'd been dreaming about with his eyes open and shut, was so close he felt the hot, moist air caress his lips. Those blue eyes he surrendered to, stared right at him and from up close he could see his own tense, awed face in the stormy blue irises.

The redhead suddenly leaned over him and buried his face into his neck just under his ear and the whispered words sent shivers down Draco's spine:

“So.... so... _beautiful_... and so vile. It shouldn't be... it's not fair... How does someone as vicious as you end up so breathtakingly, painfully beautiful? Up close you're to die for... and yet your marble beauty is nothing but pure... white... poison. I wish I could take it... and not die of it... but your venom just destroys everything it comes across, doesn't it? You were my first... first one I kissed... first one I touched... like that. You took my innocence from me... my sleep... all my dreams and fantasies... they lie with you... and it's killing me.

But if I die of it... of this thing between us... burning me to the bone... if I die, I'm taking you with me, Malfoy. I know how to wipe that arrogant smirk off those sinful, sweet lips, I know... I've done it before. I know how to make you say my name... not the filth you call me, not even my family name, but _my_ name, the name only people who care about me call me. You know I can make you say it the way you can't help it... like it's the only thing that matters in the whole world and nothing compares... even though you still hate me. Well, I hate you, too. So let me share some of that hatred with you... so you can hate yourself as well.”

And when a heartbeat later his painfully strained, leaking cock sunk slowly, deep into the hot wet cavity of Ron Weasley's mouth, the sound that came somewhere from the very depths of Draco's chest couldn't have come from him; he was not capable of such yearning and such raw need, it could not have been him who yelped his name with such possessiveness and want as if he was indeed the only thing, the only one he ever wanted.

“Ron!!... Gods... oh, please... _ohmyfuckingGod_ , Ron... Merlin.... beautiful... this... I never... don't stop... please... only you...”

He was babbling, he could hear himself and he didn't care and he couldn't stop. He didn't have a single coherent thought left in him when that soft slick flesh slid down his most sensitive, most needy parts that made his blood surge and crush against the edge of his skin in brutal pleasure bordering on pain. Yet he had to tell him, he had to spill some of that terrific need and tension he was flooded with or his fucking soul would burst and shred him to pieces. This was more than sex. This was a fucking rebellion, an uprising against everything he was reined in to believe and wish for, and it was just one man, Ron Weasley, against his entire world - and the magnificent redhead was winning.

He couldn't remember his hands giving up their support at the edge of the bath, but suddenly they were there, delving into the luscious treasure of the heavy red hair and he could do that because he knew he wasn't going to sink, because his trust in Ron Weasley and what bound them together was absolute. He loved that hair... and these were the only few moments in the whole, long stretch of eternity when he could admit it to himself. Even water-soaked and not as lustrous as the last time he got to dig his fingers in, it was strangely warm and welcoming and so much a part of Ron that he could have loved it just for that.

He had no words for Ron's mouth. He'd been dreaming of those soft, generous lips, always so fresh, always so tempting, before he even realized that it was Ron Weasley that usurped his dreams and haunted his fantasies. He still remembered the horror and the strange foreboding dizziness at the recognition whose name he woke up to panting, lying in a mess of his own juices covering his trembling hand. And he had been loud, too, he'd had to lie to Vince afterwards that it was a nightmare... only it wasn't a lie, not really; it _was_ a nightmare and a far scarier one than the mere illusion the morning sun could chase away. Ron Weasley and his gorgeous mouth stretched into a soft smile was his very own, very private curse and now he let him come too close to ever break its spell.

And that supple mouth, made of sin, could milk every delusion of grandeur and superiority out of him, with ease. Just watching it wrapped around his cock, stretched and beautifully tight, connected to some depraved fantasy in his brain that made him whimper and stutter one humiliating praise after another; worshipping, broken words of pleading and decadent secret desires the lovely mouth had the power to fulfil. And, oh, boy, he didn't know where Weasley had learned his trade; or maybe he was merely a prodigy in cock-sucking, but as his mouth was moving in his own Ron-rhythm, the very foundations of Draco's world were moving and shattering with it and his body followed the entrancing pace like a slave.

One more, gods, please, he just needed one more lingering, teasing touch of that slick, soft flesh sliding against that throbbing spot under the spongy head, just one more and his brush with Heaven would be complete... But it never came as the the hot, wet, ungodly tongue danced all around that raw spot, itching for friction until it drove him crazy with need and he was left to the mercy of the dirty flood of his words, begging and cursing for relief. But in the end it wasn't Ron's hungry, insane mouth that broke him, it was his eyes.

They had been closed for the better part of their surrealistic encounter, the long, wet eyelashes collecting the odd droplets of water like pearls. They had closed when Ron first let him down his throat with a slow, maddening pace and then sucked him the only way he knew how, the way he wanted to be sucked himself - listening to his wishes, whispered in an urgent, heated voice and following them with deceptive obedience; learning his deepest secrets stammered through the broken debris of his pride and making them true with unfathomable ease; playing with his likes and needs until he was nothing but a mess of garbled words and breathless pleading whimpers... and only when he had him where there was nowhere else to go, cornered and boiling against the confines of his body, bursting for release, the mesmerising eyes finally opened.

Slowly, like those of a predator, the deepest, most brilliant blue he would ever see in his life, they set onto Draco's grey orbs, capturing him, taking over the shredded thing he had become, connecting with him somewhere at the deepest pit of his raw, torn soul until they were one and he knew he would never look at another person like this. He saw his own desire mirrored, he saw the unspeakable bond between them recognised, he saw himself in his eyes and he knew Ron was seeing his own face in the silver surface as well. The swollen red lips opened like a soft shell and let him slide out of his mouth, throbbing with desperate tension, waiting to explode, and without ever breaking the priceless bond between them, Ron let the single moist hot breath wash over him:

“ _Come for me, Draco..._ ”

And when the decadent, swollen red mouth opened to taste his come, his hips buckled violently as his whole body arched towards him like a divine offering, and Draco Malfoy came at Ron Weasley's command. With an aching shout, ending in a sob, and a magnificent flood of pearly come that just wouldn't stop coming.

And Ron Weasley just watched him and held him through it, his eyes dark and wild, his chest heaving as if he was desperate to take part in this, to sink head first into this piece of beauty and wrong and all his, shivering in his large hands... but he wouldn't. Because next to undeniable hunger in his eyes there was also fear; because this was a road with no return; because this was not their first time and Ron feverishly hoped he could make it their last... If only he could hold on to his crumbling self for a few precious moments longer; let his eyes have their feast of beauty and want and impossible yearning - and then he would retreat to the safety of his bedroom and let the madness that came over him dissolve under the strokes of his own furious hand.

Because he could no longer deny that Draco Malfoy made him hard and aching. He'd tried to, he had god-honest tried for the better part of that lost week between then and now, and perhaps he would have stood a chance somewhere far, far away from him, but Ron doubted it. As different as they were, as hateful as they'd started out, the force that pulled them together was so tremendous it was beyond denial. And after last time... he had wandered away from him so incredibly confused, he'd nearly gone spare with all the soul-searching he had done since. It was hard enough to recognise that he... _liked_ boys the same way he liked girls, but thinking of _Draco bloody Malfoy... that_ way, was a whole new cosmos. He wasn't ready for that, he would never be ready for that - and if he had to sacrifice one glorious erection pressing painfully at the fabric of his soaked, skin-tight jeans to avoid that, Ron figured that was a fair price.

Only... those slender thighs unexpectedly slipped around his waist and too late her realized in panic he must have recklessly loosened his grip under those gorgeous round buns he got to hold and Malfoy had seen his chance and used it like the snake he was. He rose from the water as if he was part of it, his alabaster skin shimmering under the droplets and his arms wrapped around Ron's neck like a vicious grip of a serpent. The redhead only just registered the insane glow in those crazy silver eyes before the soft mouth was at his ear and the sinister whisper made him shiver:

“You forgot something....”

The heavenly mouth sought him out, the pale, surprisingly warm lips pressed into his red soft ones with Slytherin determination and Ron's mouth knew what to do. The sense memory dissolved the very air between them and he found himself kissing Draco Malfoy with violent, shameless passion, with an unforgivable urgency that recognised none of his denial, with something made of years of hatred and an endless week of brutal frustration and a hint of something that was just a warm breath and a shy moan above the scary, yet familiar domain of lust and...

He couldn't think of it, he couldn't think of anything beyond Draco Malfoy _wanting_ to kiss him and that was the last sane, incredulous thought he had before he drowned in the mind-boggling, cock-bursting sensation of Draco's mouth drinking him in and wreaking havoc with breathless whisper _“Kiss me... kiss me, Ron...”_ and _“God...yes... this...”_ and _“Oh, Merlin, you're making me hard again”_ and _“I want no one but you... please...”_

And somehow those stupid, brainless hands of his didn't know how to push the blond incubus away, but they found their way onto that pert tight arse instead, following some ancient, primal orders of his unstoppable, roaring need and he only needed to press the lithe, slick body against his half-trapped erection and feel it melt willingly against his hardness - and his hips began thrusting... once, twice, and he was coming helplessly into the warm shelter of Draco's body and against the hot, wet silk of his ungodly mouth whispering: “Yeah... that's it... let go, baby... god, you're beautiful... your coming face is to die for... I couldn't let you leave me without... I need to remember you like this...”

Out of breath and coordination and limp with release, Ron made a few faltering steps backwards towards the edge of the bath; yet somehow still clutching the warm, nearly weightless treasure in his hands. And Draco really had no where else to be.

The blond knew how narrow was the window of their quiet, unfathomable unity and spotless serenity, before all that shame mixed with regret kicked in yet again. He knew what was coming; knew how impossibly torn and wretched and abandoned he would feel when Ron would finally come to his senses and push him away; his body remembered the sensation acutely and with acid bitterness that bordered on despair. But the little stretch of time before the sharp jaws of reality chewed through their illusion was priceless, and in a hopeless attempt to make the best of the few precious moments he still had him to himself unspoilt, he buried his face into the crook of his neck and closed his eyes.

Just... he needed to breathe him in and remember the scent of warm skin, that singular possessive feeling of strong hands and that indescribable closeness that was forbidden between them. Draco never let anyone hold him, he could barely tolerate anyone's touch – yet... _this_ ... He needed this; needed it for those abandoned, solitary moments between dreams and awake when he got to listen to his heartbeat echo inside him and the world held yet no burden of expectations and his future mistakes. In those moments there was just one image behind his closed eyelids and no one else was allowed access. It inexplicably made his heart ache and it blessedly made him hard so he could pretend this... _lust_ was all this was about... and he fiercely denied any truth beyond this one. And it was easy to persuade himself afterwards he didn't remember it, that it had only been an unwelcome dream.

But now he could feel the muscles move under his touch and felt a wave of despair wash over him at the expectation of what was coming. But his body tensed for nothing, the blow never came. Instead, the hands holding him up just slowly dissolved as if the tall Gryffindor was afraid he would somehow hurt him and he was let down gently, almost as if he was fragile. When his feet touched the bottom of the bathtub he inexplicably felt his chest expand and contract viciously, dangerously alike a sob, almost as if Ron's tenderness was more brutal than the manhandling he'd expected. But something stubborn and hopeful inside of him wouldn't let the arms around his neck go loose, so he just held on and waited some more; waited with his eyes shut tight and a resigned, heavy heart to be the one to be pushed away, because he couldn't bear to be the one to let go. Just like last time.

But then the long fingers crawled into his hair, and they were wonderfully strong and a bit wrinkled from water and the thumb gently slipped into a circular motion around his ear, caressing his cheek and making him shiver.

“What is this, Malfoy?” he felt the hot, moist breath of air touch the shell of his ear and the blond pressed deeper into the warm shelter of his lover's skin, hanging on for dear life to the last moments in heaven before he was going to be cast away. “What is this... _thing_... between us?”

“Lust,” he answered after a long moment of silence and even to himself his voice sounded hollow and unsure. “Lust,” he repeated, not able to disguise the treacherous trembling in his voice, but giving him the only answer he was capable of, the only one that was going to held them both together and keep them safely apart. “Teenage hormones, you know... Just... lust.”

“Lust... “ repeated Ron in a quiet, uneven voice, as if he was testing an unknown beverage, and then Draco felt the fingers of his hands slowly disappear from his hair along with all the warmth of this world. Again.

What else he could have said? He had no other answer... he shouldn't have one. The only other answer scared him to death. It had to be this one, then.

Lust. What else?

 


End file.
